Four Days and other oneshots
by SuchAGoodGirl
Summary: A collection of random one-shots following 'the End in the Beginning'. Please do not read until you've seen the episode. "Thats the Burden" and "Check the Shoes" now up. Rating changed to T.
1. Four Days

_A/N - This is my tag on "The End in the Beginning." PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE DO NOT READ UNTIL YOU'VE SEEN THE EPISODE!! I do not want to be responsible for spoiling it for anyone. _

_Thanks to MickeyBoggs for checking over what will probably be the first of many one-shots based on the season finale. Because I'm a little worked up right now. Okay, okay, a lot. I'm pretty much climbing the walls. *takes calming breath*. Anyhow I'd love to hear your comments on the episode, so feel free to pm me or Twitter me (at) gailbarton. _

_Disclaimer – They aren't mine. I would never be so cruel._

_Enjoy._

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"Here, let me help you with that."

Temperance Brennan took the pudding carton from his fumbling hands and carefully peeled back the lid. She picked up the spoon and scooped up a hearty mouthful, before carefully reaching towards his lips.

"S'okay. I can manage," he administered, the words sounding harsher than he had planned.

"Oh." She handed his pudding back reluctantly, and returned to the chair that had been her home for the past four days.

Four days of waiting, doing nothing. And now she remained.

Waiting.

Doing nothing.

The nurses had told her to go home. Get some rest. Now he was awake she'd be able to sleep finally.

They were wrong.

He was awake, yes, but that wasn't enough. He didn't remember her. How could she walk away now? Not when she'd realized how much she...

"You've been here all the time?" He spoke directly at her, breaking from the quiet contemplation that had dominated the hours since he'd woken.

She stood slowly and walked to his bedside, fixing her gaze on his no longer warm brown eyes. "Yes."

"The doctor said that you were in the O.R. with me."

"That is correct," she confirmed. "You requested, prior to the operation, that I remain with you."

"Are you a doctor?"

"I have several doctorates."

"In medicine." It was an obvious assumption.

"No. My primary field is Anthropology, specifically the human skeletal system."

"And yet you watched them mess with my head. I must really love you to want you so close." He chuckled softly. "Either that or I really hate you to put you through observing brain surgery."

"I... I don't think you hate me."

He swallowed, wincing at the scratching in his throat. "I don't think I hate you either."

"Good. That's good." She nodded her head with a sense of slight relief.

"I assume we aren't married," he continued. "Or engaged for that matter. I mean, you're not wearing a ring."

"No." She was silent for a moment. "We are... partners."

"How long?"

"Four years."

"That's a long time. You do know I'm Catholic right?" he joked.

"Yes." Her brow furrowed. "I don't understand why that's relevant right now. Did you want a priest?"

He shook his head, regretting it immediately as the pain blurred everything. "Temperance."

"That sounds a little strange," she added with a weak smile.

"It is your name though, right?"

"Yes, but..."

"I call you something else?"

She nodded, chewing her lip nervously.

"Makes sense. I've always given girls pet names. So what do I usually call you? Babe? Honey? Sugar?"

"Certainly not," she replied with mock indignance.

"So what do you want me to call you?"

Her head twitched slightly as she considered four years of lost memories.

"Bones. You should call me Bones."


	2. Thats the Burden

_A/N – For those of us who still need catharsis after the finale episode. Thanks to MickeyBoggs for checking this on__e over._

_Disclaimer – They don't belong to me. _

_Enjoy._

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When tragedy strikes you are never prepared. But you get through it by holding onto a belief that the worst is over. That things can only get better. And so we face our harsh reality head on, bracing out the storm, waiting for the calm that will eventually settle in its place. Sometimes, the rain thrashes down, and the wind whips around for much longer than we originally anticipate. But we take comfort in the knowledge that behind the dark clouds, casting their shadows on the world, the sun still shines brightly regardless. And the light will find its way through. Maybe just a little a first, but it is a beacon of hope. That first ray of light.

"Who are you?"

Now as I stand here beside you, anxious to hear you speak again, your eyes look at me... through me... Not warm, and no longer reassuring, as I struggle to catch the breath I hadn't realised I'd lost. Did I just hear your words correctly? I had come to believe that you know me better than I know myself sometimes. And now you don't seem to know me at all.

I wonder for a moment if this is some cruel game. But I know you better. And I know that it is true.

This is the harshest of realities.

"You don't remember?" I ask, cautiously, slowly, as the implications of this cruel twist of fate begin to unfold in my mind.

Still, you stare coldly at me. I tell myself that you do not mean to cause this pain in my heart. That this is nothing more than unfortunate circumstances, and like many before us faced with challenges, we must adapt and assimilate to our situation to survive.

"No," you admit eventually, with a slight shake of your head. And I feel my heart sink to my stomach as I realise that everything I planned to say, that I wanted to tell you, is now meaningless.

"I... should let them know. That you are awake." My words are empty. An excuse to leave you here alone. As much as I want to be by your side, the bitter truth spinning in my head dictates my need for solitude. I will not allow myself to cry in front of you. I have remained strong since your hallucination in the interrogation room. I can manage a few moments longer.

I stumble out into the corridor, alerting a passing nurse to your wakefulness, and hurry to the sanctity of the restrooms, as the tears that I'd bitten back for so long begin to fall freely, ignorant of my wishes.

For four days, as you lay there sleeping, I compartmentalized my emotions, just as I have many times before. On this occasion I took the written word as my strength. Directing my energies into a creative medium allowed me the chance to explore my own feelings and examine how my needs and desires have grown and matured in the time we have been partners.

Partners.

It felt like more. And as I think about it I feel envy towards the characters that came to life on my laptop.

_This man. This woman._

I could erase the image on the screen. The image in my mind is less forgiving.

I have been awakened. And it is too late.

*****

Standing tall, I peer through the glass to see the doctors explaining to you your current condition. I see the focus and concentration you muster yet despite your restricted movements you spot me in your peripheral vision and I wonder if your military training has some precedence here. Do you know who you are? Or is it only me you have forgotten? Unwittingly, I find myself offering out to the universe my hopes that you at least remember your son. Every child needs to be remembered and thought of.

Slowly and quietly I make my way to your side once more, listening intently to the medical opinions that are a statistical likelihood. Guilt overwhelms me as I realise that I should have stayed by your side. It was selfish of me to leave you alone when you are still so lost. I reach out and take your hand in my own, caressing it tenderly. And soon we are alone once more. I wonder what to say, but you speak first.

"Were we in love?"

Your seemingly innocent question stuns me into silence. Were we? Four days ago I had no rational understanding of the concept of love. Now I understand that love is not rational. It is not measurable or quantifiable.

It just simply is.

I have never been comfortable lying to anyone. Especially those I care about. Which is why it takes me so long to answer what should come instinctively.

"No."

Your eyes flicker briefly in response. I wish that I had the ability to read people as you do... did. But I wonder if I just saw disappointment there.

"I am not aware that you had any feelings for me beyond friendship," I offer by way of explanation.

Your memories of me... of us... are gone. Perhaps it is only temporarily. Perhaps not. But I have too much respect for you to tell you to love me.

I need you to realise that on your own. And accept that maybe you never will.

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_You love someone, you open yourself up to suffering, that's the sad truth. Maybe they'll break your heart, maybe you'll break their heart and never be able to look at yourself in the same way. Those are the risks. That's the burden._


	3. Check the Shoes

_A/N – Okay, so this is __completely different to my other post finale fics. No angst bunnies here. Thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed the first two chapters. And to MickeyBoggs, who as ever, made sure I didn't make any ridiculously stupid mistakes. And I'll try and get the next chapter of 'Making Babies' up by the end of the week. I just got a little bit distracted by 'EitB'. Brownie points to anyone who gets my obscure chapter title. _

_Disclaimer – They're not mine. And it saddens me to know that._

_Enjoy_

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"Agent Booth. Good Morning."

Lance Sweets sat in the armchair, indicating for his visitor to make himself comfortable. "Have there been any developments since I saw you last?"

"Nope." Booth shook his head. "Absolutely zilch!"

"No memory recollections at all?"

"It's... frustrating." He arched his eyebrows in consideration. "But I guess I've just gotta get on and make the best of it."

"But all your other cognitive functions seem in order?" Sweets asked, jotting down his notes.

Booth smirked. "You sound like Bren when you say stuff like that."

"And is that a problem?"

"Cop terminology I can deal with. This squinty stuff on the other hand is a little tedious."

"Did you tell Dr Brennan that?"

"Are you kiddin'! The woman might look innocent enough but from what I'm hearin' she can be pretty brutal."

"Mmn." Lance Sweets nodded in agreement. "How is she bearing up? In your opinion?"

Booth frowned at the psychologist.

"I mean, I know you come here so we can work on your issues, but, I think, Dr. Brennan played an important role in your life in the last four years. And we can't forget that." Sweets tapped his pen rhythmically against his notebook. "I have to wonder if it's purely coincidence that your memory lapse is consistent with the time you guys spent together."

"Actually..." Booth pursed his lips in deep thought. "There was... something..."

"A recollection?" Sweet asked, excitedly.

"No." He took a deep breath. "But I was going through my stuff at home, like you said, y'know to see if it prompted anything..."

Sweets inched towards the edge of his seat in anticipation "And?"

"Well, I found something kinda weird."

"Go on," Sweets encouraged.

"This doesn't go outside this room right?" Booth asked nervously.

Sweets nodded. "Of course. Doctor/patient confidentiality."

"Okay, well. I found a stash of 'Mens' magazines, which, I know, aren't unusual. Single guy living on his own and all that." Booth looked at the psychologist, nodding in agreement. "It's just..."

"Go on."

"With them was a copy of Brennan's book," Booth blurted quickly.

Sweets smiled. "And you are concerned that you were using it as a masturbatory aid?"

Booth sucked in a sharp breath, and murmured a quiet "yes."

"Was it the photograph on the jacket or the words that aroused you?"

He sat back and pondered the question. "I did find other photographs, either framed, or in albums, around my place. So I'm thinking it was the stuff inside. Not that I don't think Brennan is hot. Cause she is."

"Totally," Sweets agreed with a grin.

Booth shot him down with a fierce stare. "Hey, that's my partner you're talking about."

"Do you recall the content of any of her books?" Sweets asked quickly, changing the line of discussion.

"No." Booth fidgeted uncomfortably. "Well, I do now. Some parts."

"You read it? Last night?"

An embarrassed flush crossed the Agents face. "Just the well thumbed pages."

"I would say that it's nothing to be overly concerned about. People have been using literature for sexual stimulation for millennia. This is no different."

"But most people don't know the author," Booth objected. "What would she think of me if she knew that I was..."

"Masturbating?"

"Yeah. That. To her stories."

"Dr. Brennan is a very sexually knowledgeable woman. She knows that you masturbate. Just not to what specifically."

"Yeah, well, she ain't gonna find out either," Booth warned. "In the book," he continued, "there seemed to be an element of familiarity between the characters."

"Are you saying that you identified with the Andy Lister character in your desire for Dr. Brennan."

"Whoa!"

"Horse."

"What?"

"Never mind."

Booth looked at Sweets suspiciously. "Look I never said anything about a desire for Brennan. I just said that she's beautiful and I get turned on by her writing. That was a pretty big leap to make there, Sweets."

"Look. At the end of the day, this was something you had no issue with before your memory loss. So I can't see a reason to be concerned now. I'd say just carry on with whatever makes you 'happy'!" Sweets emphasised his point, making inverted commas with his hands.

"Gee, thanks," Booth drawled with a sigh.

"Were there any other matters you wanted to discuss Agent Booth?"

Booth shook his head and stood to leave.

"Okay then, same time on Thursday?" Sweets stood and began searching his bookshelves as Booth made his way from the office. "Just as a matter of interest, Agent Booth, which of her novels were you using?"

"The most recent one. Why?"

"No reason." Sweets had his back to Booth as he found what he was looking for. "I don't suppose you recall the page number too?"


End file.
